


Fangs Interlocked

by BirdieMing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, F/M, Halloween, Vampire Harry Potter, Werewolf Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 19:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16225754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdieMing/pseuds/BirdieMing
Summary: “Don’t be frightened. There’s a new life for you here. We’ll help you.”They say nothing for a long while, disoriented. Then it’s simple, for the instinctual response to override all the strange things and let words fall on the familiar.“Where’s Harry?”“Where’s Hermione?”





	Fangs Interlocked

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** As enemy creatures, Harry and Hermione can only see each other once a year on Halloween, the only day creatures are allowed to enter the human world.
> 
> This piece was written for Something Wicked This Way Comes, a Harmony & Co Halloween One-Shot Competition. All canon characters, plots, dialogue, and situations from the Harry Potter series belongs to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work. I would also like to thank my beta, LuceFray27, for all she does.
> 
> Winner: Most Unique Story - Something Wicked this Way Comes Halloween Harmony Competition

* * *

  _Fangs Interlocked_

* * *

 

Change begins with a bite. It ignites your blood, fueling and all-consuming. It burns and twists every cell into something more until you prove to be strong. Then it’s just craving, craving, craving.

_The last thing Hermione remembers is grinning at Harry and something witty on the tip of her tongue. The last thing Harry remembers is a sort of embarrassed pride for causing a bright flash of teeth and a fast-minded girl. There’s a block, shadows cast upon murky water, to the memories before._

_They wake with a gasp, abrupt, as the pain vanishes in an instant and heightened senses of_ everything _hits all at once. She’s too warm in a forest. He’s too cold on a beach. They’re surrounded by strangers who look too eager, and it’s the same speech in every faction. Werewolf or vampire._

_“Don’t be frightened. There’s a new life for you here. We’ll help you.”_

_They say nothing for a long while, disoriented. Then it’s simple, for the instinctual response to override all the strange things and let words fall on the familiar._

_“Where’s Harry?”_

_“Where’s Hermione?”_

 

***

The full moon shines bright overhead, lighting the path as Hermione races through the trees with her pack following close behind. It’s the purest form of exhilaration, freedom in the wind narrowing her bright amber eyes and ruffling her wild tawny fur. On these nights, the forest is never more alive. Creatures abound.

She digs her claws firmly into the damp earth when they near a babbling brook, sending electric energy through the entire pack, postures lifting in anticipation. They’re waiting for her next move. She relishes in their trust and howls, chin skyward. It’s triumphant and fanfare when the other five wolves follow to create an echoing chorus.

Like the wind’s invisibility, it has all the potential there is to destroy. Only, they choose not to and are stronger for it. They hold the peace, a canopy over the wolflands; the pack that had the will to sever their frayed but prison-steel bonds with Fenrir Greyback in a scene as bloody and violent as he was on a moonless night. Her, who delivered the final blow to their wretched leader and watched with feral pleasure as the light drained out of his eyes, an action that put the end to an era of turmoil and began a new one stemming from a reborn pack named Granger. Fair and just, sacred oath. She will honour it always.

Tonight, they’ll hunt and play and run before the contented wolf has to retreat back into its dear human cage.

 

***

They keep to the border’s edge where the contrast is stark between dirt and sand, trees and ocean, marking the invisible shield separating wolfland and bloodland. It’s old magick and impossible to unravel. Hermione’s made her peace with it. The conflict between werewolves and vampires is millenniums old, ancient and runs too deep to ever truly heal.

But she just wants to be able to talk to her best friend, wants to watch his face for every subtle expression. He’s the brightest thing she can remember from her life before, and that must mean something. It _does_ mean something.

She catches a glimpse of him atop a cliff in the distance; it hangs over churning waters. He’s alone, standing with his hands behind his back. She’s only seen him up close three times since waking feverish in a forest, and she keeps forgetting that he’ll never age. He’s looking at her and she’s looking back, though her stride doesn’t break.

He grins and brings his right hand forward and up, raising a blood pouch with a straw protruding out of it. She huffs out something equivalent to a laugh and bares her teeth, highlighting the dried fox blood on her maw. They’re wishing each other a good night, unspoken _and I’ll see you soon, love._

He ducks his head and suddenly looks rather boyish, lips still curled up. She blinks, wishing she could stand in front of him and run her thumb across his cheekbone. He looks up and his smile is soft. Then he’s blurring away, graceful and sleek, a subtle strength that she finds silently encouraging her.

Soon.

 

***

The air is always salty in the bloodlands, and Harry can’t help but roll his eyes at the thinly veiled symbolism. Yes, how very hysterical that salt is a natural preservative and they, of course, are vampires who are technically undead. He’s acutely aware that he’s hovering between life and death, between humanity and something else. But that’s all it is. Awareness.

Frankly, he thinks he’s had enough struggle and conflict for three lifetimes.

His memories from life before lie in shards, but he gathers it wasn’t entirely happy. Childhood flashes of his snobby aunt and quick-tempered uncle doting on Dudley with shiny toys, as many helpings as he wanted at dinner, and private school, while he, skinny as a rail, slept in the cupboard beneath the stairs and wore oversized hand-me-downs did not paint a positive picture. He still doesn’t know how he became an orphan. He doesn’t think it the result of choice. Something must’ve happened. It’s an innate feeling that’s got him in a stranglehold.

The memory of Tom Riddle, his Sire, the one who turned him in the hopes of having an heir to his ruthless regime over the blood drinkers will always be seared into his mind. _We’re two sides of the same coin, Harry._ Denial, denial, denial. _No. No, I’m not like you. I’ll never be like you._ With every ounce of courage that Riddle made the mistake of immortalising, he lit the match and watched him burn, weakening flames and black smoke.

Tom rests in sunken ashes, salted in the ocean to face those who dared dissent and lost, but it will always be his venom that runs through Harry’s veins. He can’t run from that. But he’s the master of his own fate and he chooses peace.

 

***

Anticipation kills him. Her wolf is so beautiful, wild tawny fur and eyes sharp with focus. She looks like power, vicious in her protection, and he can’t tear his gaze away.

They knew each other from before. It’s the most vivid thing he can remember, and he knows she’s always been important. Because he was born on a beach where the tides are controlled by the moon and that’s her. It will always be her.

Soon. Soon. Soon.

 

***

The October moon pulls her toward dignified calm, settled bones knowing Halloween is nearer than ever. It’s the one day creatures are allowed to enter the human world, a meaningless event barely acknowledged by most. The Born creatures don’t understand the duality the Turned will always feel, pulled toward a world they no longer belong to.

He’s there atop of the cliff again, giving a single wink before speeding away, and she knows that he can’t wait either.

 

***

Her heart can’t help but drum in her ears when it’s time to tumble through the portal, but then she’s on her feet and standing in the middle of a familiar suburban street lined with orange leaves. She looks to her right and sees her home from before, the driveway empty. A styrofoam jack-o’-lantern sits by the door, and she thinks she recognises it. She might’ve made it herself with her parents hovering nearby, telling her to be careful with the knife. The bat garland hanging on the porch railing is new.

Her eyes drift to the real estate sign out front offering flyers, and it’s a bittersweet feeling to see such a clear sign of moving on. But they’re good people, her parents, and they deserve to live fully again.

She lets out a breath and walks away.

 

***

He doesn’t glance at the house he once resided in. It still looks just as stifling as it had felt. The neighbourhood is quiet, silent even, and without decoration. They don’t want to invite the devil in.

 

***

The streetlights cast an eerie yellow glow across the deserted playground. It’s foggy out tonight, and he waits on the swings for her. They met here for the first time over ten years ago, and he remembers it like it was yesterday. Dudley had pushed him to the ground in an effort to get to the swings first, the skin of his elbow stinging from the impact. He’d looked up to see her extending a hand to pull him up, concern in her voice. It was the first time someone had asked if he was okay.

She emerges from the low fog, and for a moment, they just look at each other. Then they’re crashing into a messy embrace, all limbs and skin and lips meeting grinning teeth. The uncomfortable prickle of missing someone, the pain that it sometimes manifests as, disappears, and it feels like relief and so much joy that it threatens to knock them off their feet.

“Hi, I missed you,” she says, running her thumb across his cheekbone.

He lets out a breathless chuckle and holds her close, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “I missed you, too.”

“So, tell me about your year.”


End file.
